


there ain’t no future

by gooseontheloose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Loss, M/M, One Shot, Post-Break Up, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29940705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseontheloose/pseuds/gooseontheloose
Summary: Apathy is not a good look on someone as high strung as Davey Jacobs, but it’s a look he’s ended up with nonetheless.He wonders how long it will stick to him, hot and humid in the air. He wonders how long he’ll carry on waking, disheveled, with deep bags etched under his eyes. He wonders how long he’ll carry on waking, still surprised to feel the bed cold and empty next to him.He wonders if it even matters anymore.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	there ain’t no future

Most days it’s easier not to think about it. Most days it’s easier to bury his head in work (or a bottle), and just pretend it isn’t real, pretend it isn’t true.

Most days it’s easier to come into their room, into his room, and lie on top of the covers, shoes on the clean sheets (there’s no one left to care) and stare at the popcorn ceiling above, and just ignore his texts and screen his calls. Most days it’s easier to separate functional, put together Davey from sad, broken Davey, who ends up curled up by the radiator like a cat, asking himself why, over and over. 

Most days it’s easier to be two halves of a whole, too disjointed to piece them back together. The Davey everyone knows, and the Davey no one sees. 

People are kind to him. He’s still getting sympathetic looks from neighbours who know, and home cooked meals from Sarah (who isn’t really all that good at the whole “cooking” thing). He’s still getting warm words from mutual friends, and daily calls from Les, who seems convinced that distracting him with long winded stories about his classmates and homework assignments is enough to fix things. He’s still getting kindness from others, almost enough to make up for the lack of kindness he’s able to show himself. 

Apathy is not a good look on someone as high strung as Davey Jacobs, but it’s a look he’s ended up with nonetheless. 

He wonders how long it will stick to him, hot and humid in the air. He wonders how long he’ll carry on waking, disheveled, with deep bags etched under his eyes. He wonders how long he’ll carry on waking up, and still feeling surprised to feel the bed cold and empty next to him. 

He wonders if it even matters anymore.

Jack had always said he wanted to go west. It was his not so quiet dream, his not so secret little fantasy. He’d tell anyone who’d listen about Santa Fe. The way the sky stretches over the endless planes of sand, the way the sun hangs heavy, casting light over every face, over every furrow. Jack dreamed of Santa Fe every night, dreamed of the empty expanse of the West, far from his friends in the city. It was his escape, his happy place, despite never having been there. 

Davey learned to grin and bear it whenever Jack mentioned a night sky, overflowing with stars, learned to smile passively when Jack told stories of what he’d do out west, with something like longing brimming in his eyes. Davey learned to be okay with the fact that he himself was never featured in the future plans. That Jack’s fantasy future had no room for anyone but him. 

And now Davey’s real future has no Jack. 

Funny how the world works out. And by funny, Davey means soul crushing. Like when you get the wind knocked out of your lungs and you can’t quite catch it back. Davey feels like he’s been one puff away from breathing for forever. He can’t even remember a time when he didn’t feel like this. He’s not sure if he wants to. Is living in pain and regret worse than what he had? Did he ever even have it at all? 

Because he’s in his apartment and it’s empty. He’s there but he doesn’t take up nearly enough space. He doesn’t leave crusted over paint pallets next to the clean dishes. He doesn’t leave his clothes strewn across the floor. He doesn’t leave half eaten take out next to the easel by the window. He doesn’t live in clutter. He doesn’t live in chaos. He wishes he did. He hated it at the time, god he hated it. He didn’t understand how anyone could live like that. Now he misses it. He’d give anything to trip over Jack’s coat on the ground, which hadn’t quite reached the hooks by the door. He’d give anything to drink a cup of coffee that had the after taste of chemicals, because Jack never quite learned how to do the washing up right, and all mugs look the same when you’re in one of those states. 

Jack was a mess. Jack was beautiful. Jack is gone. 

Jack made Davey’s life better. He made it worse as well. Jack made him smile and laugh and laugh, made him feel loose and languid and at peace. Jack made him feel comfortable residing in his own skin, in a way that Davey had never been before. Jack made everything burn a little brighter, made the colours bolder, hung the very stars in Davey’s sky. But he also got that look in his eye sometimes. There’s such a thing as burning too bright, and then fizzling into nothing. Jack was too bold, too obsessive, too uncaring, too chaotic, too angry, too passionate, too much to fit into the careful crevices that Davey carved for him. And he spilt into everything, every aspect of Davey was consumed. He overflowed and engulfed it all, swept it all along, with his lopsided smile and New York twang, with his clever fingers and that dangerous spark in his eyes. He was too much for Davey. Far far too much. 

Jack was dangerous. Jack was uncontrollable. Jack left. 

And Davey can’t grieve. He can’t. You can’t grieve someone who’s still alive, just because they’re dead to you, or rather you’re dead to them. Davey can’t grieve the empty space in the wardrobe, the hasty note on the kitchen counter, marking him out as not enough. Davey can’t grieve the one way ticket to way out west, the one Jack booked on Davey’s credit card. He can’t grieve the little world they built, the little world that Jack left him in. The little world that wasn’t enough. 

It’s just a breakup. They happen all the time. Love hurts. According to his mother, love is supposed to hurt, that’s how you know it’s real. 

Davey doesn’t know at what point the pain becomes too much to justify. He never learned when to quit. He’s not a quitter, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he holds on too tight, smothers and squeezes and loves too hard. Maybe it’s his fault. Of course it’s his fault, it always is (he should know that by now). 

It’s just a break up. He shouldn’t be this torn and tattered and broken apart by a stupid breakup. 

But it isn’t. 

When Jack’s involved, there’s no such thing as just. Nothing is small, nothing is subtle. Why should losing him- being left by him- be any different? 

It isn’t, it wasn’t, just a break up, because it was Jack. His Jack. 

Davey more than loved him. And everyone knew it. 

Maybe that was the problem. 

Because Jack was too much, and Davey wasn’t enough. Because Davey loved too much, and Jack didn’t love enough. 

There’s a note stuck to the kitchen fridge to prove it.


End file.
